Taking the heart road.

Sometimes Braden (now age 4.5) asks me how to say things in Spanish. I go to this website and we enter words and then we learn now to say them together. He especially enjoys the feature where you can actually listen to a pronunciation of the word. Unfortunately, however, he gets really frustrated when we encounter a Spanish word with an “r” in it, and he can’t say it exactly the same way. I’ve tried to help him learn how to roll his r’s, but he hasn’t been successful yet.

Today he asked how to say “tree” in Spanish. The answer is “arbol.” He became very frustrated about the sound of his r’s again. I began encouraging him to keep trying, but he just kept telling me, “NO, because I CAN’T do it.” This prompted me to launch into a long discussion with him about how you have to keep trying when you can’t do something the first time, rather than giving up, if you really want to learn it. I even gave him examples from my childhood.

(I totally went through torturous and seemingly endless trials in front of the bathroom mirror to learn how to roll my tongue. I was going to be damned if my brother could do that and I could not, and refused to believe the BS idea everyone was feeding me that it’s a genetic trait and you can’t do it unless you inherit that. IN YO FACE, FALSE POP SCIENCE.)

Braden indicated he didn’t agree with my sage advice about trying and learning. So I told him that he can take a slightly easier path and trust my advice, or he can be stubborn and take the hard road through life. He considered this for a few moments, and replied, “I think that instead, I am going to take the heart road, Mommy.”

Me: “What?”
Braden: “I’m going to take the heart road instead.”
Me: “Oh? What is that road like?”
Braden: “It has lots of heart patterns on it. Red ones and pink ones too, and I like them. And lots of heart rocks. And heart shaped trees.”
Me: “How does that make you feel?”
Braden: “It makes me feel so happy.”
Me: “And where does this road lead?”
Braden: “It leads to everywhere you want to go. And there are stars racing in the sky.”

My friends, the heart road is paved with red and pink heart patterns, strewn with heart rocks, and lined with heart shaped trees. It will make you feel happy, stars will race in the sky overhead as you travel, and it leads to “everywhere you want to go.”

I guess being happy on “the heart road” is better than being miserable while struggling to learn rolling your r’s in the long run, huh? This kid kind of totally disarms me every damn day. And he really has no idea how brilliant these things he says really are.

I’m still a firm believer in trying for the things you desire, but I’m glad to have someone in my life who reminds me it’s not always a bad idea to voluntarily take the heart road.

Sharing my joy.

Every single time I look at these, I feel pure joy. Thought I’d share that with all of you.
You don’t mind a little joy in your life today, do you? *wink*

Happy Saturday!

Here Comes The Sun

Oh the roads we have traveled.  And oh, those we have yet to travel!  They stretch out before me in my mind.  They’re sometimes long and winding, but more often, lately, so straight and fast that I can see the endpoint like a sudden, bracing hug and it takes my breath away.  That place on the horizon where the road blisses out is bursting with warm sun, calling me.

There is so much going on right now, a flurry of to dos and plans and please let this work outs, that I can’t even begin to tell you about it all.  I want to tell you.  Of course, I will.  In just a little while.  My thoughts are racing along so far and so fast, ahead of me on that straight-shot road, being drawn to the place where my heart lies in wait.  When it all snaps together just right, I’ll calm down, take a deep breath, and let my fingers do the work of spilling the proverbial beans here.

For now, my feet are getting tangled under me as I dart this way and that in nervous anticipation and fervent getting readiness.  It’s quite a dervish of a whirlwind that’s whipping me around currently.

Luckily, in the breaks between spinning and racing and running around with far too much to think about and much, too much, to do, Braden and I have private dance parties to the music of The Beatles in our living room.  There is generally an abundance of giggling.  (You can dance really stupidly when there’s no one but a 3 year old watching, and it doesn’t matter.)  Often, there is falling down on the floor silliness to be had, as well.  And sharing a moment or two of just being.

Life, contrary to what you may have heard, is good.

Stripes at my back, my heart on my sleeve.

Today’s Photohunt Theme: “Stripes”

my favorite stripes in a warm time
run up behind me in a line
I lay back and close my eyes
the time of solace and rest flies

quite soon I hear the little feet
marking out a quick-paced beat
a giggling is drawing near
the favorite sound my ears could hear

my eyes open and see his face
filling up my eye-view space
he’s grinning, asking to join me
I reach out, pull him up quickly

now a different kind of peace unfolds
of tickling, laughter, hugs and holds
and just as rest can make me whole
this connection refuels my soul.

A new day, a new gig, a happier me.

Things are looking up; my mood is lightening a little more each day, and the sunshine and warmth that’s been poking around these parts lately has had more than a little to do with that. For a stretch of days last week and the beginning of this week, it has been sunny and in the 70s, and that is RIGHT up my alley. I’ve had the opportunity to prepare garden beds and plant flowers. The physical work, time outside, and thoughts of beautiful gladioli, dahlias, cosmos, and yarrow bursting open some time in the future all swirl together to make my step a bit more sprightly.

When I haven’t been playing in the dirt, John and I have taken Braden here and there to various parks and playgrounds around our area. I have really missed doing that, and so has Braden. It’s not that you can’t do that kind of stuff when it’s cold – that’s what jackets and hats are for, after all – but my kiddo happens to have a serious HATE relationship with his face getting cold.

And I wasn’t too keen on seeing how he’d feel about a ski mask, so yeah.

But for days recently, we’ve been riding down slides and pumping our legs on the swings, and I’ll be damned if that doesn’t make me a gagillion times more giddy than a glass of red wine.

I do not forsake thee, red wine. I just place you aside for a short time. We shall join again, I promise thee.

Monday night, I was able to hang out with some lovely blogging ladies at the UBP IRL in Nashville, snarf some red wine and cheese, and have my husband and kiddo not far away from me. That was pretty freakin’ nice, too.

And I’ve just started a new writing gig, to which I was referred by the always lovely Sarah (Imaginary Binky).

It’s helping me find my “big girl” journalistic voice, which is kind of cool, in a challenging and frustrating way (can you say, “Lotus has to learn how to get a point across without droning on and on and on for eons?). Yeah, you could say I’m not the Queen of Brevity. And then you could say it again, scream it, and finish by stamping it on my forehead.

So I’ve been setting things up and writing my very first articles as Nashville Parenting Examiner. I’ll be writing a lot of locally flavored items, as well as many general parenting pieces. I’m planning on writing about events and activities that will be of interest to people in this area, and also publish a regular spattering of opinion pieces that anyone can get their head into. In addition, I’ll be hosting giveaways there, and giving general information that is helpful for all parents.

On top of all that, I’m planning on spotlighting Parent Bloggers I know and love (could this be you?) that I’ve built relationships with during my time on this website. Groovy, right? I think so. I’ll be counting on page views and subscriptions to keep me afloat, so anyone subscribing, visiting, and commenting? Will make my day.

The RSS feed is http://www.examiner.com/RSS-6205-Nashville-Parenting-Examiner

The related Twitter account is nashvilleparent

So, warmth, sun, fun, productivity, accomplishments… laughter, mirth, time with family… I’m seeing good things. It’s feeling pretty good.

Why, I’ve been so inspired by happiness lately that I even shaved my legs for the first time in over a month, trimmed the ole’ 70s bush and frolicked in the sheets with my husband. And while you may think, “UH 1) TMI and 2) So?” it’s a big deal here, considering that the last time that happened we conceived a baby. Yeah. Read the archives a little and do the math. You’ll see that it’s been an awfully evil long time.

Psychologically crippling fears resist logic and desire and can put you in places you don’t want to be for even a second. And then they keep you there for indefinite amounts of time. You even start feeling that the pain that’s being caused you and your most beloved is all your fault; you should just wake up, break out, get better, damnit.

It just can’t be forced.  Something’s gotta give, one way or another.

It’s giving. Finally, it is caving in and crumbling away.  Bit by bit.

And as it falls off of my shoulders, I’m feeling that shine again, the one that comes from inside. Not the same shine as before, from the same girl as before, but that’s okay.

Every day of this adult life, I’m learning. I’m always in process; this is a journey. The waiting for the completion of who I am and where I’m going is pointless.  I am ever changing.  It is time I accept that and who I am right now, ready to welcome the next change, whatever the moments that pass may hold.

Just be, right?

I’m workin’ on it.

It’s for me, even if I don’t know why.

Feeling pretty peaceful today. I watched a creeped out movie last night by myself (Dead Silence) which is something I like to do (watch creeped out movies, not by myself, particularly). Somehow, I made it through the night. Usually, I end up imagining only 5 less than 1,074 ways I’m going to die the night after I watch something like that alone. Seriously, don’t watch crap like The Ring or The Grudge by yourself. Or be by yourself ever again after you watch them. (Kids in the house don’t count, they’re worthless during a ghost or demon attack.)

I digress. The main point being pushed aside by my blathering is that I slept really well last night. My fingers never touched my keyboard after 9:30pm – a rarity. Woke up this morning and listened to Braden playing in his room (in his crib) until he sounded the cranky “Come Get Me NOW” alarm. Then I stripped him of PJs and we went downstairs for breakfast. Some days I just let him run around while he eats instead of sitting at the table. I know, bad eating habits and all that (blah blah blah bahl). It’s the exception rather than the norm, so I don’t buy that bunk.

He’s been running around naked, laughing his little dimples into a frenzy over Teletubbies, and shoving banana chunks, wheat chex, and rice milk down his little throat. He ran over to the television screen a while ago, pointed (so close he was touching it) and said, “weeeeehhhhdddd!!!” He was right. It was completely red, with the red Teletubby standing in the middle of it. He’s been showing an intense interest in letters, numbers, shapes, and colors lately. I don’t push it, but I answer all his questions. And I kind of stand back, observing his brilliance, then reinforcing his enthusiasm. It amazes me, makes me proud. Of course, I’m also proud every time he announces, “aaahhhrt!” (fart) and “buuuhhhp!” (burp)

I dropped onto the couch after eating my granola bars and drinking my coffee, to continue watching him parade around in laughter at these odd, annoying, little colored creatures dancing around on my television screen. Braden’s sick right now, so he’s a bit more snugglie than usual. He ran over to the couch, flashed his dimples at me, and then crawled up and inserted himself into the empty space on my torso, pressing his face into my chest. I watched him while he watched TV. And I felt so lucky.

Here I am, laying on this couch with a full belly, and I get to touch his soft skin. I get to look at his adorable face, and kiss his sweet cheek. He wants me to hold him close. And I get to. Other than John (when he’s here) I’m the only one who gets to enjoy Braden’s sweetness in this way. I’m the only one who gets to hold him in an embrace like this, savoring his sweet smell, knowing that he loves me.

I’m the only one (most of the time) who gets to see him doing things like this:

I’m the only one who gets to see his cute and funny little dances this morning, and receive his hugs full of love and confidence. For that, though I see no reason why I deserve it, I am infinitely thankful.

No snark today, folks. Just blessings for your Friday. Here’s hoping your week wraps up pleasantly.

I just want to be that happy owl.

I’ve always felt a little bit crazy.

When I was a kid, I thought I was “crazy” because I liked things that it seemed the majority of other kids around me didn’t like.  I enjoyed reading, while they seemed to think it was a chore.  I barely gave a thought to what my hair looked like.  If it was clean?  I was okay.  I was more interested in climbing trees and building forts than making sure my hair smelled like Pantene.  I didn’t always know what was “cool.”  I didn’t always really care.  I had a shirt that said, “Dare to be different.”  I embraced that message.  There was a tree branch on that shirt, and 4 owls perched from it.  One was hanging upside down, and smiling.  That was me.

Different.

In grade school, my friends told me I was “crazy” because I liked to act silly and question standards openly. If something funny occurred to me, I wanted to share it. I suppose it was already obvious back then that my “filter” had bigger holes than people thought it should. And my penchant for crass humor was already making itself known. Can’t imagine where I got that from. *shifts eyes to father* I cannot deny being called “the loud one.” Or even, “the annoying one.” Or maybe, “the OMG AVOID HER AT ALL COSTS one.”

In high school, I was always searching for something to make me feel right.  All of a sudden, the “crazy” was more than just an oddity or a quirk.  Something was missing.  I asked myself often what it could possibly be.  “Is it fun?  Maybe I should not read so much anymore.  Maybe I should do some smoking, some drinking, some partying.  Maybe I should skip classes and flirt.  Maybe it’s a boy that’s missing.  I should get one of those, or two, or maybe three.”  It all made me happy.  Momentarily.  But then none of it made me happy.

I pushed on into college and grad school.  A young adult now, I was “crazy” silly to my friends, “crazy” ridiculous when I was drunk, and “crazy” bitchy and controlling to my boyfriend.  Add in “crazy” anti-social during those times when I just wanted to be alone in my apartment.  Which was often.  I have always really enjoyed being alone.  I think, maybe, because there is no pressure to hide exactly how one feels when alone.

No one is there to see how crazy you really are.

Over and over I’d have these periods when I felt that the “something” that would make me happy was always just a few steps ahead of me.  And I kept chasing it, doing the things I thought I was supposed to do, following the plans that I was supposed to make and follow through with.

Every day, going through the motions.  Hiding the anger I had at people as much as I could, pushing it down most of the time.  Hiding the tears, hiding the sadness.  Pushing on.  Past the crazy.

My outward “crazy” was manageable.  When the anger seeped, it was mostly rants that had a humorous edge.  If they stung a little more sometimes than others, I could usually cover with follow-up humor.  I never started fights, never hurt anyone physically.  But the anger was always there.  The sadness was always lingering just below the surface, too.  Humor is often a cover for so many things, did you know?

“Just be funny.  Just be ‘crazy.’  Then they won’t know you’re… well, crazy.”

Taking just a few more steps.  To try to catch The Happy.  And a few more, and a few more.

I put all my hopes into the things I thought would make me happy… my jobs, my studies, my boyfriend.

That was unfair of me.

No one can carry such a burdon for someone else.

That was unfair to me.

Because when you put all of your hopes for happiness into something else, or someone else, and then they fail you…

[And they WILL fail you because nothing can make you happy, and no-one is your perfect answer.]

… all you have left is the crazy. And you might try to get away from that, too, in the only way you know how.

Funny thing is, if you survive that, you might somehow still push it down and keep on taking a few more steps. Thinking that you can still chase down that happiness all by yourself.

I’ve denied to myself that I need help.  I’ve told myself that I don’t really feel crazy.  Not really.
I’ve kept telling myself that “The Happiness” is just. around. the. next. corner.

“I just need to take a few more steps!”

But for the first time in my life, now that I’ve been a mother for almost two years, I do feel like I’m actually crazy sometimes.

People: there’s this little person who’s running around in my house and he needs me all the time.

Even when I need to be alone with my crazy, he needs me.  When I’m feeling distant, when I’m feeling weak… He’s there. And he needs me.

And he needs me to not be crazy.  But he’s not giving me time to take a few. more. steps!

Somehow, that is making the crazy that wasn’t Really Crazy, you know, the one that I could just push down and ignore? It’s making that crazy grow.  The angry crazy is leaking out when he needs me, and when he doesn’t, the quiet, sad crazy is taking over.

For myself, I’m afraid of the latter.

For him, I’m afraid of the former.

Why?  Because every moment I need to myself, he is there.  Every toy has to be slammed into my face. Abruptly, he will run up and scream right in my ear.  For No Reason.  He dances around because he has to pee, but when I put him on the toilet, he looks down at his penis, grins, and then shakes his head, “No-No-No-No.”

30 seconds later, he is peeing on my coffee table.

Some days, I am amused. This is what being a mother is about, right?  This is what kids are supposed to do!

I know this.  And some days, I cope with it all brilliantly.  Some days.

But other days, I honest to goodness have to fight the urge to slam my fist through a window, fling dishes into the wall, or God Forbid, throw my son out the door or scream in his face.

And I’m not speaking in silly exaggerations.  I am not trying to color my words so they will be interesting.  I am not trying to spice up the page.  I literally fight the Real Life Urge to ACTUALLY do those things.

So far, I’m winning, but it would only take one weak moment for me to lose something I may never get back. That frightens me in a way I don’t know how to express.

I cannot stress to you how much I would never, never, never want to hurt my son.  I love him abundantly.  I give all of myself to keep him safe and happy, every day.  And still, I feel that I fail him repeatedly, because I have raged at him in my mind so many times.  In my mind, I am a monster.

And sure, sometimes I raise my voice, even yell, and I’ve thrown a toy down or walked out of the room when I couldn’t take it anymore.  Will those things hurt my son?  It doesn’t seem like it, if you take any one of those instances by itself.  But a lifetime of memories filled with those instances, for my son?  I don’t want that.

I want him to remember me as the owl who hung upside down. Not the one who came screeching at his face with its claws out, or hid behind its tree and cried all the time.

It’s time for me to admit that I need more than prayers, extra sleep, or a place to write about my feelings. It’s time for me to admit that I need help, and seek it out.

I can’t keep chasing after a happiness that eludes me, always a few steps ahead of where I am. I cannot keep trying to hold inside an anger that makes my chest tight and often seeps and leaks out, hurting others. I cannot keep denying that I am exactly who I am, and that’s okay. It’s okay if I’m crazy. It’s okay if I need help.

I don’t know exactly what kind of help I need, but I’m hoping the doctor I make an appointment with will have some idea. I’m hoping I don’t just get dismissed again, like I have in the past. I’m hoping that with all my heart.

Do you think it just might work out?

I’m almost afraid to believe that.

It makes me feel a little bit crazy.

That thing that sometimes eludes us: Happiness. (Now with FEWER spelling errors!)

Okay.  This post was up all day with “alludes” instead of “eludes” in the title. 

WHY DIDN’T ANYONE CRY, “IDIOT!?”

*ashamed*

************************ 

Since I really haven’t been doing enough complaining lately (refer to the first part of my site name), I thought I’d mention something to you guys today.

Braden is sick AGAIN.

Yup.

It’s the third time in a month and a half.  Previously?  He had only ever been sick twice.  That’s 15.5 full months of life with only 2 sickies.  Then one and a half months with 3 sickies in it. 

We Ah Soooo Redeh 2 Git Dah Hellz Outta Heah!

In brighter news, whenever I’m all “WOE IS US!” Braden has a way of showing me things like:

A) The only thing you ever REALLY need in order to feel happy is a naked butt (wearing shoes while having a naked butt really just enhances the experience) and a bag of some sort of chip things.

B) Playing Peekaboo cures what ails ya. 

C) If those fail?  Playing with the blinds is more than sufficient.

Even when sick… the kid trumps me on seeing the simple things in life.  It’s not really that hard to find a little happy every day.  As adults, we’ve just forgotten how sometimes.